‘My lord is in prison,’ gasped lady Glamorgan, and bursting into fresh tears, she sobbed and moaned.

’Has my lord been taken in the field, madam, or by cunning of his enemies?’

‘Would to God it were either,’ sighed lady Glamorgan.  ’Then were it a small thing to bear.’

‘What can it be, madam?  You terrify me,’ said Dorothy.

No words of reply, only a fresh outburst of agonised—­could it also be angry?—­weeping followed.

’Since you will tell me nothing, madam, I must take comfort that of myself I know one thing.’

‘Prithee, what knowest thou?’ asked the countess, but as if careless of being answered, so listless was her tone, so nearly inarticulate her words.

‘That is but what bringeth him fresh honour, my lady,’ answered Dorothy.

The countess started up, threw her arms about her, drew her down on the bed, kissed her, and held her fast, sobbing worse than ever.

‘Madam! madam!’ murmured Dorothy from her bosom.

‘I thank thee, Dorothy,’ she sighed out at length:  ’for thy words and thy thoughts have ever been of a piece.’

’Sure, my lady, no one did ever yet dare think otherwise of my lord,’ returned Dorothy, amazed.

’But many will now, Dorothy.  My God! they will have it that he is a traitor.  Wouldst thou believe it, child—­he is a prisoner in the castle of Dublin!’

‘But is not Dublin in the hands of the king, my lady?’

’Ay! there lies the sting of it!  What treacherous friends are these heretics!  But how should they be anything else?  Having denied their Saviour they may well malign their better brother!  My lord marquis of Ormond says frightful things of him.’

‘One thing more I know, my lady,’ said Dorothy, ’—­that as long as his wife believes him the true man he is, he will laugh to scorn all that false lips may utter against him.’

’Thou art a good girl, Dorothy, but thou knowest little of an evil world.  It is one thing to know thyself innocent, and another to carry thy head high.’

’But, madam, even the guilty do that; wherefore not the innocent then?’

’Because, my child, they are innocent, and innocence so hateth the very shadow of guilt that it cannot brook the wearing it.  My lord is grievously abused, Dorothy—­I say not by whom.’

‘By whom should it be but his enemies, madam?’

’Not certainly by those who are to him friends, but yet, alas! by those to whom he is the truest of friends.’

’Is my lord of Ormond then false?  Is he jealous of my lord Glamorgan?  Hath he falsely accused him?  I would I understood all, madam.’

’I would I understood all myself, child.  Certain papers have been found bearing upon my lord’s business in Ireland, all ears are filled with rumours of forgery and treason, coupled with the name of my lord, and he is a prisoner in Dublin castle.’

She forced the sentence from her, as if repeating a hated lesson, then gave a cry, almost a scream of agony.